


Governance

by sfiddy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Modern AU, corporate games
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfiddy/pseuds/sfiddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Game of Thrones AU set in the powerhouses of finance and industry.  Set out in drabbles, ficlets, and scenes.  Possibly accepting prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Players:

Winterfell Insurance: A venerable reinsurer with an ethics record above question. Their slogan, “Winter is coming”, is used both as a reminder to prepare, and a reassurance that they are reliable in crises. Led by Ned Stark, a man with more morals, perhaps, than good sense. His daughter, Sansa, is training in communications and corporate branding.

Casterley Rock: aka “The Rock’, a massive conglomerate with fingers in most pies. Led by Tywin Lannister, a man who likes keeping things in the family, and his three children, each given a portion of the company to lead. What secrets is he keeping hidden in his family-owned lair?

The Landing: A diverse group of real estate, energy, and investment interests run jointly with varying degrees of success by the brother-sister team of Cersei and Jaime Lannister. They specialize in trendy up-to-the-minute investing and real estate ventures, nebulous energy investments, and parties so hip no one asks where the money came from or where it went.

Lannisport: A shipping and logistics firm, a subunit of Casterly Rock. A decidedly less ‘sexy’ division of The Rock, but probably holding the most actual value. Handles a significant amount of international shipping, materials sourcing, and routinely coordinates interactions between vendors and prospective buyers. Run by Tyrion Lannister, a man with razor sharp acumen but a debatable public image.

Baelish and Associates- An advertising firm that often offers internships. Led By Peter Baelish, a man with a hazy backstory but a lot of connections, some very very questionable. Considered to be Sansa’s finishing school, though she left suddenly for reasons known only to non-disclosure agreements.

Blackwall- an independent forensic accounting firm. Companies tremble when they get calls from Blackwall. Led by a group of savvy software engineers and accountants, they will unearth any discrepancy. It’s possible that some would kill to prevent an investigation by them. Sansa’s brother, Jon, less interested in the stuffy insurance industry than he is in uncovering wrongdoing, runs a team.

Also featuring: Highgarden, a massive agribusiness focusing on high-grade grain and feedstock lines, with sidelines dabbling in everything from biodiesel to rare bulb cultivation; Storm Inc, a sleek fund specializing in hostile takeovers, but only after being reborn from one itself; pharmaceutical giant Sunspear, producer of cutting edge therapies for everything from aggressive cancer to whatever was significant in a data mining run, and others!


	2. Chapter 2

With a grunt, Tywin Lannister adjusted his office chair to ease his aching back. It had been his own stupid idea to make the chairs in the conference room uncomfortable to avoid excessively long meetings, but he forgot that his daughter would tolerate any discomfort once she was center stage. Cersei had been in her element, and was still when he’d left. Once the party started, no more work would be done, and they’d hardly even begun.

There were a thousand things that needed attention, and it was already growing late. Tywin’s eyes drifted to the small bar in the corner of his office, but he rather suspected there was enough of that already, so he loaded a cup into his brewer and settled in to work.

With a flick on a control panel, the lights softened and he opened his email. His phone had pinged constantly for the last ten minutes, and no doubt the other partners were in the same position as he—working late to compensate for the madness of their younger partners. Tywin’s elder son, Jaime, would at least keep things from getting out of hand, but where Cersei was concerned there was no maintaining order. The business was safe, if not their shared conference buildings at The Landing.

After entering in his two-step security key, Tywin got a look at his inbox. Someone was certainly burning through bandwidth. New email chains were stacked fifteen deep and he was copied on every single one.

Well then. His younger son had spent the last hour putting out fires and managing the business that had been largely glossed over at the meeting. Tyrion Lannister, for all his faults, had probably moved several million in product and made a new partner in the last few hours. 

Grudgingly, Tywin sent acknowledgments, but it didn’t even begin to deal with the problem he needed to address.

Innovation came with risks, and he’d trusted his older children to handle it. Tywin was beginning to think they couldn’t. Without learning too much (deniability being the cloak it was) he had decided to start moving their funds to spread the risk and start selling off the pieces in increments. If done carefully, they would never catch the attention of Ned Stark, or worse, Blackwall.

The reinsurer, Winterfell, and its rigid CEO Ned Stark was everything people believed businesses and their captains should be. It was a fairytale that a captain of industry could remain so pure and maintain a balance sheet for long. Then again, if you got too dirty, Blackwall came calling.

There was no telling how mired in muck The Landing was. Every creative little jump up had been absorbed and spun into blended funds, ostentatious hotels, high risk hedges and energy ventures that made Enron look like a straightforward accounting error. 

And the most feared team at Blackwall was led by Ned’s adopted son Jon, of course. 

Tywin grimaced and smacked at the keyboard sharply, scrolling down to find something to be distracted by until his phone rang. His damn desk phone. 

He sat forward and answered, holding his forehead. “This is Lannister and whoever this is, you had better have a damn good reason to call me.”

“Peter Baelish, and don’t I always?”

Tywin leaned back. “I have no need for a branding consultant, Baelish. Go sniff another tree.”

“Of course you don’t, but I was thinking you might like an intern.”

“I don’t use interns. A woman with an MBA manages my calendar,” said Tywin. “Don’t you have better things to do? It’s late, go buy a friend.”

“I’m everyone’s friend. I’m going to send you a very special resume for someone I need to place. Have a look and see if there might be a something in your organization for a promising professional.”

“What game are you playing, Baelish?”

“I never play games, Mr. Lannister. I help others win. Take a look at the file and let me know.”

The line went dead and Tywin’s phone pinged again. When he scrolled up, there was a new email from a generic corporate account with an attachment. 

Well, well, well…

Baelish was being compelled (he did use the word ‘needed’) to move someone. That implied something was not as tidy as Baelish liked in his consultancy firm. For all the filth he moved, he knew how to keep his own house clean. This could be interesting. Tywin Lannister opened the attached resume and was not disappointed. 

It looked as though Sansa Stark was looking to spread her wings in the world of business. Tywin picked up his phone. 

“Drag my daughter out of whatever lap she’s in and tell her she has a new bird in her office. Feather the nest well.”


	3. Chapter 3

Cersei Lannister straightened her suit and held up her hand to quiet the applause. “And we’ll all do our best to welcome Sansa Stark into our home here at The Landing. Please help yourselves to coffee and pastries from the bakeries and don’t forget that lunch will be catered today by Pot Shop down on the corner. Have a great day everyone!”

Tywin Lannister watched Cersei nod at the clusters of people in the glass walled conference room as she stepped to the side to give Sansa Stark room to shake hands and mingle. His youngest son, Tyrion, stayed at the edge of the room tapping at his phone. Cersei pointedly dodged him as she poured herself a coffee and stood at Tywin’s side. They surveyed the genially churning room. 

“I don’t like her being here, or did you not notice her name?” Cersei grumbled out through her clenched smile.

Tywin sipped his water. “I’m classing up the place.” Sansa was graciously accepting a choice pastry, no doubt being told of the first floor shops and retail on the first floor of The Landing, Cersei’s mixed use development in Queens. It was successful more out of luck than out of any actual forecasting skill, as her timing had been impeccable on the real estate boom in the neighborhood. Her other developments attested that fact, he thought with a sigh.

“And I don’t see why she should get her own office.” Cersei indicated the newly decorated space near her own office. “I blew thirty grand outfitting my personal kitchen for her.”

“Tragically denting in your entertainment budget,” Tywin said, watching Sansa work the room in a circle. She was careful to greet everyone who came to her, and nodded to acknowledge those who were hanging back. The young lady knew how to make people comfortable. “You can still ask her to bring you a coffee or whatever it is you feel like drinking.” Tywin felt his phone vibrate and noted Tyrion’s forward. “For your information, her name is precisely why she’s here.”

“I don’t see why I have to coddle the brat. You could stick her anywhere at The Rock or Lannisport.”

He turned to face away from the room. “Because you’re in the greatest jeopardy of investigation—or did you not notice her last name? She’s Ned Stark’s daughter and the sister of Jon Stark at Blackwall. She’s your shield.”

Cersei frowned. The brat was hovering near her excuse of a brother, waiting for him to finish his phone call. When he was done she leaned slightly to greet him but did not make the mistake of kneeling down like he was child. They exchanged pleasantries, then she moved on and waved at the IT team. 

“What am I supposed to do with her?”

“Keep her busy and make sure she’s happy. She’ll tell her darling daddy how well she’s doing and at holidays she’ll have nothing bad to tell that brother of hers. Start her on softball PR then let her take on anything she wants. She just came from Baelish, so I’ve no doubt she can handle herself.”

Cersei looked up. “From Baelish? Why is she an intern then?”

Tywin looked back at the party. “Left suddenly. Non-disclosure, but he’s demanded we keep her for three years minimum.”

“He was obligated. How interesting.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t give a damn but it does mean that we’ve got a safety net for three years.” He glared down. “Don’t waste it.”

Cersei smirked. “Don’t worry.”

Tywin narrowed his eyes at her. “Put her on JOFF. You need all the help you can get with that monster.” He stepped away and snapped his fingers. Tyrion pushed his phone into a pocket and followed Tywin out the frosted glass door.

Sansa moved quickly, and met them at the door. “I want to thank you again for such a great opportunity, Mr. Lannister.”

Tywin ignored her hand, gave her a quick smile and left, loudly crushing his water bottle. Tyrion took her outstretched hand and shook it lightly, holding the door. 

“If you find you need anything, please let us know, Miss Stark.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lannister.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. “Tyrion. Answering to ‘Mr. Lannister’ requires altitude I do not possess.”

Sansa tried to speak, but nothing came out. Tyrion smiled at her momentary fluster.

Cersei stepped in. “Come on, little one. IT is waiting to set up your computer and I’m sure my brother has places to be.” She took Sansa by the elbow and led her away. “We’ve got some ground to cover.”

Tyrion watched as Cersei muscled Miss Stark down a hall and wondered just how much his sister hated having to pander at their father’s command. It was amusing to see someone else have to do it for once.

“Coming?” 

At the sound of his father’s voice echoing down the granite hallway, Tyrion sighed and let the door close.

“Yes, my lord. Coming. Highgarden says flooding will delay their shipments but they anticipate no reduction in quantity. Sunspear’s press release on the new blockbuster caused a rush and our stock increased in value by fifty percent. In a fun sidenote, one of the stock feeds Sunspear uses can be sourced through Highgarden’s research division. Are we interested?”

Tywin grinned. “We might be.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many fic ideas and so little time. I managed to get this done, though!

Sansa’s hands practically shook as she opened her files. Her files, her accounts. All hers. 

At her last internship she’d only ever been allowed to observe meetings, keep notes, and provide reports on files. It reminded her more of her undergraduate work than actual project planning. Then again, Peter Baelish had been at her last internship, and the less she thought about that the better.

On top of the stack was a portfolio showing the printed materials prepared for the main building, The Landing. It was all polished, perfect, and everything you would want in a trendy, rehabilitating urban center. The digital materials included the original concept description and designs, market strategy, location selection process, bidding information, and so on. It was as perfect as you could imagine, and it looked like Cersei Lannister could not be a better planner, and with her brother Jaime as the lead project manager, The Rock had found some diversity.

Sansa sighed happily. Such brilliance, combined with the public face of two golden, chiseled-feature leaders? This job would be cake. 

She opened the next file. TOMN was a quirky project and clearly a transition from their older work. The Outer Moorings-Newark was a destination district meant to appeal to both working and business class alike. Pictures and articles from press releases suggested a healthy relationship with local church leaders and arrangements with restaurants to nearby food kitchens.

My god, she had tripped into a PR heaven. Maybe she should bless the Baelish fiasco rather than curse it.

There were other projects, some less illustrious but solid nonetheless based on her information-- boutique funds, small power companies that could use some PR help and a new coat of paint. Nothing that good communication and proper presentation couldn’t fix. 

At lunchtime, Sansa popped down to one of the delightful little shops on the first floor and got a pretty salad, complete with a juice spritzer. Unable to help herself, she pulled out her phone and dialed her father, not noticing that her every move had been noted and reported.

It was not a terribly long conversation, but it was more than enough. Cersei grinned when the second of her little birds assigned to Sansa Stark confirmed how well she spoke of her new job, and how she couldn’t wait to start working on plans. Most especially, she loved how smart her new employers must be, because the proof was all in the files she had.

Cersei picked up her phone. She’d put her communications people on lockdown months ago, but this might be the day. 

“Hello dear, it’s Cersei… no, no, don’t get him, I know how much he loves his lunch break. Just send him my thanks and leave a message for Mr. Trant that we have a new intern ready for orientation.”

…

Sansa returned to the office, buoyed by her father’s words of encouragement, yet curious about his word of caution. Don’t get carried away, be careful not to misrepresent, and always be fully informed even if it meant more work. 

Especially if it meant more work, he added, because anyone hiding the truth was not likely to make it easy to find under a mountain of disclosure. There might be legal obligation to produce relevant documentation, but nowhere did it say you couldn’t bury it in fifteen boxes of unrelated garbage.

But, Sansa reasoned, Ned Stark hadn’t seen the files she still had to sift through. Surely it would all be there.

Sansa brewed coffees and carried one into the main office.

“Miss Lannister, I have a coffee for you if you like?”

Cersei looked up from her screens and tapped a window closed. “Oh, that would be lovely,” she cooed. “What are you finding in your research? Anything I can help with?”

With the coffee in one hand and a file in the other, Sansa entered the office, starting a bit when she saw the hulking, sharp eyed man standing in the corner. 

“Don’t mind him, dear,” Cersei said as she took her coffee. “Just a little human resources formality. Now, what have you got there?” She pointed to the file in Sansa’s hands.

“Oh, it’s some memos mentioning an early asset I can’t seem to track down. It’s called JOFF? Is there more to this file or have I missed a sale note?”

With a tight smile, Cersei raised her coffee and sipped, licking her lips as she swallowed. “All in good time, dear Sansa. Now, I believe it’s time you met Mr. Trant, who will guide you through your orientation process.”

…

Much of The Rock and Lannisport operated out of a massive skyscraper in New York’s financial district. The two companies occupied a full six floors for their corporate headquarters, with several satellite offices along the eastern seaboard and one in every major port city in the country. 

The Tower, as employees referred to the building, had a touch of past eras tucked here and there-- mirrored pillars in elevator lobbies, floral upholstery in a long-standing secretary’s office, or a conference room that still used a projector rather than a full media wall. The décor at The Rock was, however, precisely as Tywin Lannister preferred—fine black leather, modern lines, and, in his opinion, no wasted space or materials. It was as if the office had been scaled to him, and if you were made keenly aware if you did not measure up.

Which was why Tyrion Lannister rarely visited. Modern design made few allowances for him and neither did Tywin Lannister.

Tyrion swallowed and entered the familiar and forbidding office, climbed awkwardly into an armless chair with no footrest, and waited as Tywin continued to tap at his keyboard. It was a full two minutes until he sat back and made eye contact.

“There’s a presentation at The Landing today. I want to hear how development is going with the Stark girl.”

“Surely you could ask her supervisor,” Tyrion said. “I thought my sister wanted to carry her around like a puppy.”

Tywin grimaced. “If I want a rosy glow I’ll watch the sunset. I overheard Ned Stark asking about some of The Landing’s ventures at last night’s benefit and no one had an answer. I want to keep the wolves at bay.”

“I’ll have a chat.” Tyrion nodded and lightly slapped his knees, readying himself to slide off the chair with as much dignity as possible.

Tywin picked up his phone. “Send the car. One passenger, The Landing.” He hung up and bent over his keyboard, so Tyrion turned to leave. “A moment,” his father called.

“Yes?” Tyrion answered, trying not to sound hopeful.

“The contract you arranged was signed. You’ll receive a commensurate percentage as outlined in the text.”

Tyrion waited a beat, then another. “Great. It looked like a promising deal.”

“The car will be here in five minutes.”

“Right.”

Uncomfortable and unthanked, Tyrion left to meet the car and hoped the bar was stocked.

.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion visits The Landing for what should have been a press conference...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a very busy year. Took a break to dig this out. :)

Sansa tapped her speaking notes into a neat stack and glanced at the podium from the side of her eyes. Weeks ago she’d been so cool, so ready to tackle everything. Now she was here, presenting her plan to rebrand one of the tiniest properties to just the office staff, outwardly calm but churning in her own skin.

One wrong word could earn her a serious round of education and orientation sessions. She’d been so ambitious, ready to dig in and root out underlying barriers to success, but that wasn’t what anyone wanted. No one was allowed that kind of voice. 

Especially not her. Sansa’s second request for documentation on JOFF had earned her two weeks of being shadowed by Trant, from leaving her apartment in the morning to when she locked her door at night. He asked questions about her family, her father, her intentions at the company, and harassed her about what happened at Baelish. 

It took time, but Sansa developed a list of ready answers she could mindlessly parrot. 

He’d stand right behind her at the coffee machine. Sometimes he hissed in her ear. Other times he was loud enough for the whole office to hear.

Sansa would hide her wince. “Miss Lannister is teaching me the importance of loyalty and enthusiasm for the company.”

She could conjure a smile without a thought. “I have never been so excited to work with such a skilled design and development team, and I can only hope that I can add value to the endeavors of The Landing and The Rock.”

Lies came as easily as breath. “All projects past and present at The Landing exceed state and federal guidelines regarding building codes and appropriate insurance reserves. We are happy to provide any documentation upon request.”

A touch at Sansa’s elbow brought her into the moment. Trant started to tug at her arm. “Up now. Show time.”

The staff was there, but the easy smiles were gone. Her peers did not trust her anymore. Sessions with Trant were anything but private and, as everyone knew, no one is shadowed by HR without good reason. 

.

Tyrion Lannister smacked the automatic door trigger and shielded his eyes against the reflections as his personal assistant sighed.

“Mr. Bronn, please remind me to have the cars stocked with coffee. I am a man who does not cope with temptation well.”

Bronn shrugged. “There’s this moderation thing. All the rage, you might try it.”

“I am the sum of my excesses divided by my faults. Surely that counts.”

Tyrion Lannister cradled his head and stumbled into the conference room, silently cursing The Landing’s modern glass walls. Cersei liked to encourage the impression of clarity and transparency, but Tyrion knew better—it was only a matter of time before she pushed her own metaphor and threw a stone in her pretty glass house. 

Tyrion led the way to a pair of seats and glanced around the room. He leaned over to Bronn.

“This can’t be right. Miss Stark was supposed to handle press releases and do a public appearance today.”

Before Bronn could reply or start checking the rumor mill, a figure stepped from the other side of the room and approached the podium. Were it not for her hair, Tyrion might not have recognized her.

“I have the distinct pleasure of introducing the product of these past few months,” she began. Her voice was smooth and practiced, but her eyes were hollow. Tyrion glanced around the room as she continued.

“This project is so much more than the sum of its parts. The eight unit complex located-”

There were no cameras and half those in attendance were looking down at their phones as she spoke. This was not a press release.

“And a new color scheme to reflect the increasingly modern tone of the neighborhood was selected as well as landscaping that incorporates-” she droned.

Tyrion glanced towards movement at the side of the room, partially hidden by a ludicrous frosted glass panel. He leaned over to Bronn. 

“It’s Trant. Cersei’s had Trant work over Miss Stark.”

Bronn watched. “Yep. Not one word wrong. Never looks in his direction.”

The wretched presentation finally ended and Cersei strolled out, her applause slow and sharp. “Well done, Sansa. We’re all so _very_ impressed by your thorough descriptions of color theory and modern landscape design options for an eight unit condo, aren’t we?” Cersei swept a hand toward the glazed audience.

Tyrion saw that Sansa did not even flinch at the insult. 

“I have great enthusiasm for such a fine property, and I look forward to arranging the first showings to prospective tenants. It’s a privilege to be on the team.”

“Oh dear,” Cersei covered her mouth. “I’m afraid we’re reorganizing that particular district. You’re being transferred, effective immediately. Margery will be taking over that unit from here.” Cersei took the presentation folders from Sansa’s hands and handed them to another young woman. 

Tyrion heard whispers hiss through the room. 

Cersei smirked as she walked back towards her office. “Sansa, you’ll start cross training for the reception desk with Trant tomorrow.”

The assembled audience hung back, unwilling or unable to exit the fishbowl of a conference room, leaving Sansa standing alone. Tyrion slid off his chair, fighting first his pulsing head and aching legs, then the forest of people milling around the room. Once he was through the crowd, he saw that Trant was holding Sansa by the elbow. When Sansa flinched, Tyrion ground his teeth together.

“Bronn, would you be so kind as to remind Mr. Trant of some of our more obvious policies? You might start with the one about unwanted attention. Offer examples if he gets it wrong.”

Trant stepped back. His fingers left marks in Sansa’s sleeve. “Are you threatening me?”

“Of course not. Bronn, the next time Mr. Trant speaks, send his military records, most recent employee review, and the videotapes to that nice reporter you meet for drinks every Thursday. _That_ was a threat. See the difference?”

While Trant shuffled off towards Cersei’s office, Tyrion looked up at Sansa. She was pale as a ghost and perfectly still, only a slight sheen on her forehead indicating the strain she was under.

“Miss Stark, you don’t have to do this. Tell me the truth, do you want to end this internship?”

For just a moment, Sansa’s eyes slid out of focus. In that split second, Tyrion could feel her gaze cut straight through his skull, but they snapped back to him and she smoothed her sleeves.

“I am a loyal and dedicated employee of The Landing, and I look forward to the opportunities of my new assignment.”

.

Tywin Lannister sighed as Tyrion returned that evening with his report.

“It wasn’t a press release, it was a spectacle.” Tyrion paced the floor, too frustrated to sit. His phone vibrated and he jabbed a response. 

“Sunspear took delivery.”

“How your sister manages her staff is hardly your concern.”

The phone twitched again as soon as the screen went dark. “Highgarden’s research division is offering to scale up if Sunspear can take their next delivery in six weeks. But it should be _your_ concern, or do I not recall hearing that the Stark girl was to be Cersei’s protection from The Wall?”

“Ned Stark hasn’t indicated a problem.” Tyrion’s phone started vibrating again.

“Do you really think he’d share his concerns about his daughter with you?”

Tywin considered, then picked up his phone. Tyrion plucked a coffee cup from a tray and brewed himself a dose of relief, scrolling through a series of emails. He played switchboard and conduit to the movement of goods and money while his siblings pissed it away.

After a few minutes of shuffling shipment dates and arranging a legal team to draw up a new series of negotiations, Tyrion had drained his coffee. He wished the reason for his visit was different; Sansa Stark was a person, and a member of a well-respected business family with powerful connections, all excellent reasons why something had to be done. 

Tywin placed his phone back in its cradle, the sound pulling Tyrion from his thoughts.

“How many emails have you sent since you arrived?”

“What? Seven, maybe eight?” Tyrion set his cup down and scrolled through his phone.

“And how many meetings do you attend every week?”

Tyrion laughed. “Is that an actual question? By video, phone, or in person?”

“You’re the head of a major company. One of my companies. You do not need to attend every conference call, and frankly, I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“Thank you, Father. You’re a paragon of loving support.”

Tywin narrowed his eyes. “You need an assistant.”

“I have a secretary.”

“Your secretary does your laundry at the office.”

“True. I have Bronn.”

“Bronn is your muscle. You can’t have him represent Lannisport with Sunspear and Highgarden.”

“Fine. I’ll hire.”

“Don’t bother. You’ll pick up Sansa Stark Monday morning. She’s your PA.”

_“What?”_

“My secretary is making arrangements for a residential relocation from The Landing to The Keep.”

Tyrion spluttered. “But I live there!”

“And now you’ll arrive sober from time to time.”

Tywin returned his attention to his screen, and Tyrion sighed as his phone vibrated yet again. It was always something, and that was the way of things, wasn’t it? He turned to leave, scrolling through the message, but stopped halfway to the door.

“Anything else, _sir_?”

“Don’t forget your cup.”

Tyrion walked back slowly and deposited the coffee cup by the kitchenette sink. 

“Goodnight, father.”

“Let me know about Sunspear.”

Tyrion jutted his chin in annoyance. “Nothing about Miss Stark? Are you not concerned about _her_?”

Tywin looked up. “Not as much as I am about a multimillion dollar venture in shipping and pharmaceuticals. As to her failed role at The Landing, perhaps she will do better at improving your PR. She certainly can’t make it worse.”

Tyrion was about to respond when the intercom chimed.

“Mr. Lannister, the representative from Bravos is here.”

“Send him in.” Tywin tapped his phone off. “Give the Stark girl an office and a budget. Hell, give her a salary. That should buy us time.”

“Time for--”

But Tyrion did not have time to finish. The venture capital representative had already entered and there was no point in trying.

...


End file.
